Bound By Blood: Book II
by Spartansoldier2
Summary: The Pridelands is no longer a place of paradise, but a place of war. Charles Shelton is now Sergeant and commander of the Pridelands forces, but before he can save the Pride, he has to find his own salvation. Rated T for now.
1. Prologue

**Chapter: Prologue  
**

**Drastic Measures**

_**It is forbidden to kill; therefore all murderers are punished unless they kill in large numbers and to the sound of trumpets. ~Voltaire, War**_

_**---The Kehlsteinhaus (Eagles Nest), Oberzalberg, German-Austrian border--**_

**June 7th, 1944, 1543 hours (03:43 p.m)**

"SIE TÖTETEN DEN FALSCHEN MANN?!" the man screamed in anger. The German officers surrounded their displeased Führer as they lost themselves to shame. "Werde ich von nutzlosen Dummköpfen umgeben?! Wir haben die Russen an unserer Eingangsstufe, den Amerikanern, Kanadiern, und Briten durchqueren unsere Verteidigungslinien mit der Bequemlichkeit, und jetzt können Sie sich nicht mit einem Jungen sogar befassen?!" The men looked at each other for a moment as they took their verbal punishment from Adolf Hitler himself for their inconsequential failure. They all thought that the child sniper had eliminated Shelton and broke the squads strength, but somehow, Hitler saw through with his own spies. One of the officers' was brave enough to step forward and speak to Hitler himself, "Mein Führer, wie die Verbündeten näher nach Berlin, unsere Kraft ziehen, nimmt ab. Die Verbündeten könnten versuchen und unsere Brücken ins Heimatland durchqueren. Wir sollten gerade diesen Verbündeten Trupp beiseite legen, weil sie meist unserer Sorgen sind." The appalled Nazi Führer slammed his fists onto the stone table which shook the room, frightening the officers even further. "WAS?!" he exclaimed. Not many have ever spoken to Adolf Hitler in this fashion before and questioned his orders, because many of them ended up with a hole in their heads. The room was quiet for a long time before Hitler spoke again, "Was tut, denken Sie, wird geschehen, wenn sie ihre Verstärkungen bestellen? Was dann?" The officers didn't answer right away, they were too stupefied by the stout man's anger at the time. "Herr sind sie unter heimlichen Spitzenoperationen am wahrscheinlichsten. Sie konnten nicht ihre Verbündeten um Hilfe rufen." one answered. Adolf looked up at the man and gave him the most frightening gaze he had given a fellow German and said nothing further. Hitler sat himself back down into his leather chair and tried to recollect himself again as he spoke again, "Wir können nicht dass Junge erlauben, oder seine Trupp-Genossen zu leben. Wir können nicht unseren Fortschritt verlieren, den wir mit den lokalen Tieren haben. Das Bedürfnis der Hyänen, auf dauerhaft, und jene Pridelanders aufgepasst zu werden, muss auch zu uns fallen. Die großen Zerstörer müssen von ihren Gräbern zurückgebracht werden, um bei der Einnahme der Kontrolle des ganzen Gebiets zu helfen." The officers gazed their eyes on the Führer with pity for the man and waited patiently for an order to be passed. "Wie ist Ihre Ordnungen, Herr?" one asked. Hitler took a sip of his coffee and looked out at the falling sunset in the East and gave a small nod, "Berichten Sie Rommel zu mir morgen früh, weil wir mehr Männer und Waffen unten ihr so bald wie möglich brauchen. Aber ihr ist ein Ding, das sofort getan werden muss: Töten Sie den Vater." The men all stepped back and saluted their Führer, "Hagel Hitler!", and left the room.

**Hey guys! Spartansoldier2 here! Book I is finished, so now I bring you Book II! Yes, the prologue is in fact German, in refusal to be unrealistic with speech. I didn't want them speaking English because in the war, they never spoke English to one another. Sorry but this does require you the reader to figure out what they are saying (it would be difficult to have translations next to each phrase lol) so that you may possibly enjoy the story a bit more. Lol. Thanks for reading up to this point and I hope that you enjoy reading this story as much as I have had writing it. Peace!**

**-Spartansoldier2**


	2. Training to Kill

**Chapter I**

**Training to Kill**

"_**A leader leads by example, not by force"**_

_**-Sun Tzu**_

**June 15th, 1944, 1421 hours (02:21 p.m)**

Mud and water splashed violently against the charging soldiers' combat boots and war trousers as they moved from point to point through the drenching, heavy rainfall from the dark sky above. Large raindrops pattered against their helmets as they took cover behind a blown-down tree as ordered. Today was just another day of combat training and PT for the young men of Shelton's squad, but the rain made it even tougher for them to train. But to Charles, the storm was a great opportunity for them all to "take advantage of" Mother Nature for the experience. Charles held up his arm and clenched his hand into a fist when they touched base with the broken side of the tree. Under cover, Jackson crouched and ordered Simon and Peterson to their positions along the tree side. Peterson slid his finger onto the trigger of his M1A1 Carbine, eager to fire off a round into his target, in which everyone else noticed from him. Jackson whispered something to him and detached his finger from the trigger. Charles took a little piece of glass from one of his pouches and carefully leaned it over the tree, revealing a target dummy. He put the piece of glass back into the pouch where he placed it before and faced his men. "MG34, 30 yards southeast, full team in the pit." he whispered cautiously. He pointed at Jackson and Peterson and then at a newly dug foxhole left of him, angling his hand up and down slightly for a second. Simon took a deep breath as the cold water trickled down his dirtied face that mixed with the sweat of his pores. Charles gave the two the go ahead and they rushed in a crouch-run and rolled into the foxhole, climbing back to their feet as they aimed their weapons from at the exposed dummy from the "comfort" of their foxhole. The ground gave a shake as a rumble of thunder broke through the cloudy sky, it was now or never, they had the dummy caught off guard for their little ambush. Charles formed a fist and pointed the fist in the dummy's direction, moving it back and forth giving the "supressing fire" command. Jackson fired one shot from his M1A1 Thompson, scoring a hit on the left torso, while Peterson followed with his Carbine, leaving a bullet hole on the left shoulder. Simon fired his Browning Automatic Rifle into the right cheek, and Charles fired with his own Thompson, hitting the dummy in the neck. Charles reloaded his Thompson with a fresh drum magazine as he ordered his men to cease fire, "CEASE FIRE!" he yelled to his allies. The ringing of bullets ceased to exist and all fell silent as the men held their fire and waited for new orders; fingers on their triggers as the sliding water fell down their faces and splattered onto the ground that they tread. The Sergeant gave a few small hand commands to an invisible force and four lionesses jumped out of the bushes from the left of the dummy and tackled it to the ground, ripping it apart with their claws and deadly jaws. "HOLD!" Charles ordered to them. The lionesses stopped and stepped off of the torn dummy, riddled with bullets and rip marks, and hurried over to the soldiers' position. "Form up!" Charles ordered to his own men. They all, human and lioness, huddled around Charles and took breaths. Charles took his Thompson and removed the drum magazine from the receiver and stuck it nicely inside one of his ammo pouches and slung his weapon around his shoulder. "Good work everyone. We keep this up, the Krauts will be surrendering in no time. But don't think that we are fine the way we are, it's not as simple in real combat because they will be shooting back at us." He noticed most of the lionesses stiffen up once they heard the end, but he took no notice of this. He looked around at his men and the lionesses and his vision flashed again, this time a larger memory to him:

**October 23rd, 1942, 0823 hours (08:23 a.m)**

**--Guadalcanal, near Henderson Field, 2nd Marine Division--**

Bullets rang over their heads as the Marines moved from trench to trench, from foxhole to foxhole, as the elusive Japanese forces of five infantry battalions fired upon their positions. Craters covered the barren soil as exploding grenades and artillery rained from the sky like meteors. Charles fired his M1 at a Japanese soldier who seemed to be a sniper in the tree's and saw the blood fly from his wound and fell out of the tree and landed on a fellow soldier, dead. A hand reached out of nowhere and grabbed onto his right shoulder and turned around ready to shoot his attacker. "WE CAN'T STAY HERE, LIEUTEN--!" the soldier yelled until he was cut down by a Arisaka round and his blood splattered on Charles's chest pouch. A grenade blew a few feet away from him which woke him up out of mind and rushed into a trench. As he ran through the trenches, he saw many soldiers shot in front of his own eyes; he even saw a Private rush out of the trench to be completely massacred by a light machine gun and his blood splashed against the wooden barriers and walls, including a bit of his brain from the head shots. When Charles made it to the other side of the trench, a Japanese officer appeared and shot at Charles with a Nambu pistol until he emptied his clip. Charles was surprised that not a single bullet actually hit him and shouldered his M1, but when he aimed and pulled the trigger, the rifle jammed. "SHIT!" he cursed as he strenuously pulled back the bolt, but without success. The officer, knowing that this was his chance, unsheathed his katana and gave a battle cry. Charles still tried to unjam the rifle, but still with no success. The soldier charged at him, crying out as he continued to get closer and closer with his sword ready. Time seemed to slow down for Charles, as if he knew that this was his end, but it wasn't. With this unusual phenomenon on his side, he pulled out his Colt.45 as the Japanese officer was literally in his face and fired.

**June 16th, 1944, 1432 hours (02:32 p.m)**

His vision flashed again and he was back in the Pride Lands with the storm rumbling overhead as he feasted his eyes on his allies as they watched him with awe and confusion. "You alright, Sergeant?" asked Jackson with sympathy in his voice. They all looked at Charles continuously waiting for an answer. Charles sighed and nodded. "I'm fine. You are all dismissed!"


	3. Making Friends the Hard Way

**Chapter II**

**Making Friends the Hard Way**

"_**Few are those who see with their own eyes and feel with their own hearts."**_

_**Albert Einstein**_

**June 16th, 1944, 0700 hours (07:00 a.m)**

After the morning feast, the group of twenty participants, including Corporal Jackson, Private 1st Class Peterson, and Private 1st Class O'Brian, all lined up in their order ready at attention, waiting for the Sergeant's arrival. The hot, orange sun blaring down on the sweating faces of both man and lioness, both from the heat and anxiety of what's to come for today, but the humans' didn't mind much for the schedule today. It was a Friday today meaning a weekend vacation for them if they were lucky enough not to piss Sergeant Shelton off today for anything. They were all planning and sharing their plans to each other in a quiet sound of whispers, including the human soldiers starting with Peterson. _"Hey, Simon. What are you doing for the weekend?"_ he whispered to Simon who stood left of him. Private O'Brian was too afraid to face his friend and speak, thinking that Charles would show up and punish them all with extra PT or revoke their weekend passes, ending their plans right there. He just moved his mouth slightly to the side and whispered back. _"Just some reading and sleeping. Maybe a swim. How about you?" _Peterson just leaned a little to his left with caution, as if he was being watched, and responded: _"Try to find a girl."_ Simon gave a small chuckle along with Jackson. Everyone knew about Peterson being single and a virgin so everyone was starting to think that he was the son of some kind of priest. "ATTEN...HUT!" ordered a voice from an unknown direction. Everyone snapped back to attention, some of them even locking their legs to keep from showing a bend in their legs to Charles. Charles walked out of the shadows of the looming figure of Pride Rock with a very serious face on, as if he wanted to beat the hell out of some unlucky bastard, but with him was King Simba, Queen Nala, Princess Kiara, and Prince Kovu, all of them with eager faces ready to see the Prideland's fiercest warriors. All twenty of the participants bowed their heads humbly in respects for their royal family that stood before their feet including the soldiers. Simba gave a smile and gave a nod in response. "WEAPONS...CHECK!" Charles instructed. Quickly, all the lionesses unsheathed their claws, while the men held their firearms out in front of them. A few of the lionesses started to tremble knowing that some of their claws weren't even sharp to pass inspection. Charles walked down the line, throwing out insults as he inspected the lot. When Charles reached Jackson, he was already looking like he was about ready to kill everyone, so Jackson was even fearing his stature and immediately pulled the bolt back on his Thompson as required. Charles yanked the SMG from the Corporal's cold, sweating hands and inspected the weapon, releasing the magazine from the body and checking the ammunition. He reinserted the magazine and continued to make an overview of the weapon. He pulled back the bolt himself, but when he himself pulled it back, it jammed due to the rust behind the bolt. "A rusty bolt?! WHAT IS THE MEANING OF THIS?! CAN'T YOU CLEAN YOUR DAMN WEAPON?! I WOULDN'T TAKE THIS SHIT INTO COMBAT IF MY LIFE DEPENDED ON IT!! PASS REVOKED!!" Charles shoved the Thompson back into Jackson's hand harshly, Jackson accepting it in a rush. "Yes sir!" Jackson replied. Charles gave a jerk before he could move on down the row and stopped, looking back at Jackson with his dark-green eyes. "WHA-? WHAT?! DID THIS OFFICER SAY YOU COULD REPLY?! THIS OFFICER DOESN'T BELIEVE THAT HE ASKED YOU A DIRECT QUESTION, CORPORAL!!" Nobody even dared to look at what was occurring knowing what would happen if they did, but some were too afraid to look anyway. Jackson also had a sense of fear in his eyes, and even he was afraid of looking at Charles. "I HAVE NO EXCUSE, SIR!" he responded with fear. Charles got even closer to his face with what looked like rage in his face. "I?! I?! WE ARE ONE MIND HERE, CORPORAL!! ARE YOU AN INDIVIDUAL?!" he yelled in Jackson's face with annoyance eating away at him. Jackson broke one of the most important rules of the platoon: Never refer to yourself as an individual. Jackson started to tremble even more, but he tried to hide his fear, thinking that Charles would build on that. "NO, SIR!" Jackson yelled. "SOUND OFF!!" Charles screamed. Nobody moved still, even the royal family never moved nor made any sound as they watched this event. "NO SIR!!!" repeated Jackson, this time only louder. A breeze blew across the group's faces', giving a few of them a bit of a chill, but they still did not dare to move. Charles moved down the row a few steps, but looked back at the dumbfounded and embarrassed Corporal and pointed a finger at him. "If I catch you with that rusty, jamming bolt again, I WILL HAVE YOUR ASS!" he warned before moving down. Charles made his way down to Private Peterson who had his M1A1 Carbine already held out and ready for inspection. Charles quickly grabbed the rifle and removed the small magazine. He started to examine the magazine inside and out before staring back up at Peterson. Charles held the magazine in front of Peterson's face and shook it roughly. "What do you hear?" asked Charles coarsely. Peterson felt his body go limp. He knew that he screwed up by a large degree. The Private felt a chill course through him before he spoke. "Nothing, sir!" "WELL AIN'T YOU SMART?! THIS MAGAZINE IS EMPTY!! WHY DO YOU HAVE AN EMPTY MAGAZINE?!" Charles yelled in his face. The royal family all had faces of surprise and pity including Kovu, who also felt pity for the group of 'victims'. "NO EXCUSE, SIR!!" the young soldier responded. Charles roughly hit the empty magazine against Peterson's metal helmet twice before he reinserted the magazine into the rifle. He shoved the carbine into the Private's chest, "PASS REVOKED!!" Charles yelled. Instead of moving over to the next participant, he just started to walk around the entire group in displeasure for their faults. "YOU THINK YOUR ALL WORTHY TO FIGHT?! YOUR ALL PATHETIC!! YOUR ALL NOT EVEN WORTHY OF STANDING BEFORE YOUR OWN KING!! ALL PASSES REVOKED!!" A few of the lionesses shed small tears while Peterson and Jackson stood in shame knowing that they let their platoon down, their Sergeant and friend down, and the royal family down. When Charles made it to the front of the platoon, he reached over to a rock and shouldered his modified Thompson before he turned to his warriors in anger and frustration. "LETS GO! WER'RE RUNNING CURRAHEE!!"


	4. Help Always Welcome

**Chapter III**

**Help Always Welcome**

"_**The most persistent sound which reverberates through men's history is the beating of war drums." ~Arthur Koestler, Janus: A Summing Up**_

_**---Outskirts of Mombassa, Kenya, British occupied airfield---**_

**June 18th, 1944, 1431 hours (02:31 p.m)**

The sounds of war filled the African air as the British Eighth Army continued about with their daily duties. The sounds of continuous yelling and shooting rang over the sands and dirt of the Kenyan earth of their region. It has been a year since these brave men, alongside the American forces, fought against General Erwin Rommel ("The Desert Fox" as the soldiers call him) and his skilled Afrika Korps all over North Africa and won victoriously even with the odds against the strong British military forces by three to one. Tanks and jeeps drove through the camps on their way to the ports just north of the airfield to be shipped to France as aid for the Allied Expeditionary Forces as they continued on through to Germany. Hurricanes, Spitfires, and Typhoons flew over the prideful soldiers, the soldiers cheering and waving as they flew off into the distance. They sold their hearts and souls into believing that the war is near it's certain end, wishing a safe return back home to England, for they have seen more than enough war then they ever wanted to see. In the midst of all of this, a tall, slender man walked his way through the camps, watching the men train and shoot their firearms at distant targets, coming closer and closer to the main command tent. Guarded by two S.A.S officers, the soldiers barred his way with their Lee-Enfield rifles, "Name and rank!" the officer on the left ordered, obviously the higher ranked officer than the man on the right. The stranger removed his officer's cap and stood at attention, "Captain Terence Wright." he responded with order. The men brought their rifles to their sides and snapped back to attention, both giving a salute, "Major General Philips is waiting for you, sir!" the man on the left added before both men removed their hands from their salute. "Carry on." the Captain ordered as he swept aside the tent's fabric and entered.

When Wright came inside, their was an average-sized, physically fit man sitting in his chair with another man, this one a bit short, standing next to him, outlining a map of Africa to the sitting man. "Captain Terence Wright, reporting as ordered, sir!" the young Captain interrupted. Both of the officers' stopped speaking to look up at the soldier who stood before them with curious eyes staring right into Wright's. The tent became silent as night, so quiet that some say the men could even hear the blood run through their veins. This moment of silence lasted an entire minute before Terence spoke again, "Is one of you Major General Philips of the British S.A.S?" the young man questioned. The shorter officer pulled out a small cigarette box and an even smaller match box, lighting one before he stuffed them back into his pocket, not saying a single word. The sitting officer was more courteous and actually replied to Wright's question, "I am him, young Captain. But I do not recall asking for a Yank Captain to report. Where is Major General Lewis?" he asked, trying his best to be calm in his voice. "I requested that I come instead and the Major General gave me the ok, sir." Wright insisted in his own defence. The tent rumbled as an MKII Spitfire flew overhead, by the sound of it, the fighter was very close to the ground which infuriated Philips the moment after in which was followed by a loud BANG on his table from his fist, spilling a cup of tea all over his hat that sat next to his pens. "Somebody tell those lads up there to be more bloody careful!" he ordered the man next to him with fury in his brown eyes. In a second, the man rushed out of the tent and headed towards the strip with his cigarette still in his mouth. The Major General gave out a frustrated groan as he tried desperately to dry off his officer's hat with a handkerchief, mumbling and groaning the whole time. Terence was starting to get impatient with this, what he called, pathetic excuse for an S.A.S officer and decided to speak up before he was completely forgotten about, "I'm here to take command of Operation Savannah effective immediately, sir!" Philips stopped all motions of his body after hearing such orders from the Captain. The man studied Wright for the longest time, quietly and carefully, as if he were Death himself looking upon a new soul ready for his time in Heaven or the fires of Hell. All was quiet yet again, save for the sounds of men and machine outside the thick walls of the green tent.

"I can't allow you to take command without the proper clearance. The blokes in America would have called me up about this change of command." the British officer explained clearly to the quiet Captain. Wright was starting to lose his patience as he heard while he looked at pictures that surrounded the tent. He saw pictures that took place in the first Great War which in ways was intriguing to him. He remembered that his father was also in the first world war years ago, inspiring him to become a soldier. Reality struck him like a brick on a watermelon when he heard the Major General shout his name, "WRIGHT!" waking him from his memories. "I have the papers with me." he replied, quickly pulling out an envelope with a very unusual postage stamp on the front and handing it over to Philips. Philips opened the envelope with precision and speed and pulled out a thick folded piece of paper that slept inside the envelope. He quickly unfolded the paper, pulled out reading glasses, and started to read sentence after sentence, paragraph after paragraph, mumble-reading at the same time. "Signed, Major General Jebadiah Lewis, Secret Tactics and Combat Department." Philips finished. He sat the paper down onto the table along with his glasses and gave a deep sigh, worrying Wright. "Secret Tactics and Combat Department? That's a real part of the U.S government?" Philips asked suspiciously. The Captain just stood there stiff as a board. He knew he wasn't allowed to inform anyone outside the U.S government, not even the basic military, about the department named, but if he didn't tell the Major General, he would not be allowed to take command of the top secret operation. He took deep breathes and tried to stay calm. "Said department is not allowed to be known to those outside the highest levels of federal security, but said department has authorized this officer's command of said operation, sir." he explained carefully as if his life was on the line, in which it was. Major General Philips laid his hands on his chest and rested back on his chair, continuing to gaze at the man before him, thinking about what he should do. Allow Captain Wright command of Operation Savannah? Or turn him away and be demoted for failing to assist England's own ally? He personally didn't trust Terence since the minute he came inside the tent, not because he was American, but because of his eagerness to basically take control of the situation, determining if the devastated squad lives or dies in this foreign country. Philips cleared his throat and exhaled deeply. Finally making up his mind, he pulled out an ink stamp, dipping it into the firm sponge of ink and pressed it onto the paper, revealing the knife of the Secret Air Service in black ink. Philips pulled out another stamp and repeated, only this time, leaving a print of the British Intelligence symbol, referencing this order as incredibly important. "Your base of operation's location can be found with the coordinates in this." Philips pulled out an envelope with the words 'TOP SECRET' over the postage stamp and handed it to Terence. "Do NOT open that until you are outside the base by half a mile. Dismissed." The Captain stood at attention and quickly saluted, followed by the Major General's salute. Wright presented an about-face and walked out of the tent with a grin on his tan face, leaving the forty-two year old British officer at his desk, whispering a prayer for the squad's safety.

_**---Kenya, Africa, 'The Pridelands', Pride Rock---**_

**June 18th, 1944, 1802 hours (06:02 p.m)**

A loud THUMP sounded through the little den as Peterson's knife erected from the thick exterior of the wooden log that hanged from the rock walls. "We already searched here, here, and here with no trace." Jackson explained, pointing to circled areas on a map that sat on the rock table, crossing out certain parts with a black pen. Jackson hovered his left hand over the eastern section and ran it around a triangle mark that he had made. "These plains have no decent cover for a Kraut outpost, in other words: they would be ultimately right out in the open just waiting to be fired upon." Charles lightly scratched his cheek and continued to look over the eastern part of the map. With what they have seen, the north, northwest, and western terrain hold no clues on the location of the elusive German army, even with how well the lions are with tracking. Peterson's bootsteps echoed through the little cave as he walked back and forth between the hanging log and his where Simon sat, cleaning his B.A.R without a word. Peterson had just recently taken interest in using his knife as a throwing weapon, thinking that he would look 'cool' to the lionesses, but to no avail on his part. "Well, what about the Outlands?" Shelton asked his Corporal. Jackson laid his hands on the side of the rock table and relaxed his body, allowing his torso weight to put pressure on his arms. Jackson gave out a coarse sigh, the sigh of 'bad news' to the squad's ears, "No. Simba won't allow anyone, not even us, in there. Sorry Sarge, but we need to go to Plan B." With much disappointment, Charles crossed his arms and looked up at the ceiling in deep thought. His vision started to flash again as memories and visions flooded his mind like a motion picture. The next thing he knew, the air was filled with the stench of sweat and salt with a hot beam of the sun burning his flesh as the sounds of gunfire and blood-curdling screams of pain rang through his ears. "_It can't be._" he thought to himself. But it was. He was on the island of Guadalcanal.

(_**This next section contains war violence and mild gore as reference to the hellish combat of Guadalcanal. Discretion is advised to readers under the age of 14. Thank you.**__**)**_

**October 19th, 1942, 1221 hours (12:21 p.m)**

**---_Guadalcanal, Three Miles South of Henderson Field, 2__nd__ Marine Division_---**

Charles wanted to scream, but he couldn't, for this Hell was too horrible for such a reaction. He felt a hand grab his shoulder and was pushed viciously into a crater left by a grenade. "GET YOUR ASS DOWN, LEIUTENANT!! ARE YOU CRAZY?!" yelled the man on top of him. Charles felt another person next to him, but when he tried to see the man that saved his life above him, his eyes were caught by the sight of a dead Marine that laid next to him, looking right into his eyes. The dead man's chest was blown wide open, his ribcage in plain sight with a few of the broken bones petruding from some of the skin. For a second thereafter, Charles felt warm but wet on his chest. But Charles didn't need to look at what he was laying in, for he knew right off the bat. He himself was laying in the dead man's pool of blood. In shock at what he had seen and felt, Shelton pushed the man above him off of his back and quickly grabbed the dead Marine's M1 Garand rifle and aimed in alarm at him. In his defence and response, the Marine rose his M1A1 Carbine and aimed at Charles, finger on the trigger just ready to be pulled. When Charles recognized the mystery soldier that saved his life, he opened his mouth in amazement and shock. "_It can't!_ _Your dead!_" he thought to himself, not even realizing that he was still in the middle of a goddamned battlefield. Charles lowered his rifle while the Marine, instead of lowering his Carbine, moved to the edge of the crater and started to fire at the Japanese soldiers. The man had the patch of a Staff Sergeant, now Charles definitely knew this guy! "STAFF SERGEANT EVANS?!" Charles exclaimed trying to keep his head as low as he could to avoid the incoming fire that flew over their heads. Staff Sergeant Michael Evans, Charles's second-in-command and best friend of his unit, all starting with being together at basic training at Pearl Harbor just weeks after the bombing. Shelton wanted to greet him like a friend, but there was a little problem: they were in a warzone, so he tried his best to act like the officer that he used to be. "WHAT'S THE OBJECTIVE?!" Evans yelled. Charles crawled up the side of the crater until he was in firing range of his targets, but he didn't fire. If he fired at all, his position would be given away to the snipers. As he looked around the battlefield from his new foxhole, he saw the bodies of soldiers pile up as they were ripped apart by grenades and gunfire. He saw a young soldier in a foxhole up ahead, who didn't even look eighteen, crying and screaming out of fear curled up in a ball before he was shot by a Japanese rifleman a second later. This wasn't a battle anymore for Charles, this was his personal Hell as he smelled the stink of burning flesh and death all around him. He noticed the ridge just less than half a mile from their position that housed the MG nests and snipers. Now with this knowledge back in his head, he felt in control once again of the situation. "EVANS!! GET ME A .30 UP HERE NOW!!" he ordered his friend and fellow soldier. "COVER ME!!" Evans replied. Charles shifted his postion to his left a few crawls and fired his M1. "GOLD PLATOON!! SHIFT FIRE AND SURPRESS THAT RIDGE!!" Charles ordered the men behind his position. In a single instance, all of Gold Platoon started to shower the Japanese bunker with SMG, rifle, and machine gun fire, buying Evans enough time to fall back and run to a bunker the Marines captured hours ago.

Luckily, Gold Platoon held their fire long enough for Staff Sergeant Evans to acquire and man a .30 Browning Light Machine Gun, allowing him and Gold Platoon to surpress the Japanese for an extended period of time until the 1st Armoured arrived and destroyed the machine gun nests. This allowed Charles to lead his men into the ridge bunker directly with no casualties, a miracle they all called thinking that snipers could still pick them off as they ran up the hill. The armor created a perimeter around the surrounding area, ensuring a safer clearing of the bunker. But it wasn't.

"ROOM CLEAR!" shouted a Private. Charles was doing his best not to think about his duties in the Pridelands, his squad, the royal family, his father, and especially Vitani, but he was starting to lose hope in being able to return with every Japanese soldier he killed. "Good work, Gold Platoon! One room left!" he praised. The last room was down in the deep basement that connected the bunker to an underground tunnel that the Japanese dug as a precaution against naval bombardment. A sickening smell was creeping through the metal door, filling the halls with death. "Private Jensen! Open that door! Evans! Search the rest of these rooms with your squad for documents!" Shelton ordered, trying his best not to smell the air. Evans rallied his men together and started whispering his own orders to the squad of twelve. The squad broke up seconds later, already searching drawers and cabinets without question. Thoughts about his squad in the Pridelands started to fly throughout his brain, personally wishing that they could follow orders like these men under his command. Sounds of crackling paper and breaking wood echoed over the cement walls of the damp halls in many directions. Sometimes Evans enjoyed his job a little too much when it came to breaking things which Charles joked about constantly ever since they were both little lads. Charles chuckled to himself quietly as he remembered when Evans and him got in serious trouble for 'accidently' starting a fire in their neighbors backyard with fireworks in 1926. His daydreams were interrupted when loud banging replaced the crashing and breaking sounds from before by Private Jensen's door duties, trying to kick the door free of the locks. The rest of Gold Platoon was still topside with the tanks awaiting further orders from Evans and himself, so _he_ had to make sure that Jensen wouldn't get into trouble, but it was already too late. Just before Jensen was sure that the door would soon yield it's way open, a Japanese officer opened the door roughly into the Private's face, pushing him onto the ground. Before Charles could open fire, the soldier quickly grabbed Jensen by the collar and threw him inside the room before closing the door. Charles felt his body stiffen up completely, unable to move from the shock of the event. The only thing he could hear was the horrific screams of the Private as the officer killed him, but seconds later, all went silent. For his men, that was the scariest thing to experience; to hear death only to fall silent as a tomb. Dumbfounded and horrified by what had happened, Charles just stood and stood. He just suddenly remembered this moment the last time he witnessed this, only to be seeing it again. He felt his stomach churn and his heart beat faster as his hand made his way slowly to the door handle. For the first time in his life, he was truly afraid of what could happen next. The Japanese soldier could be waiting with a pistol aimed at the door, Jensen's body sprawled across the floor with his arms and legs removed. No, he didn't want to know anymore. He quickly twisted the handle and pushed the door gently, shouldering his M1 awaiting his enemy. He felt a wave of heat and smell fall over his body as the door opened up more and more. Charles gave a small gasp at what happened to the Private in his eyes. Jensen's body sat against the wall facing the door with a Katana stabbed into his chest, pinning the young man to the wall. Along the left wall was a line of Allied P.O.W's whom were executed by slit throats across their necks. Charles lowered his rifle slowly as he continued to stare at the bodies of the dead men in which started to make him gag a bit as the smell became intoxicating to him. Just as soon as he turned to the right walls of the room, his mind and body felt light as a leaf as his vision flashed yet again. He was going back to the Pridelands after all.

Charles started to become nauseated and weak as his vision started to fail, forcing him to fall onto the cement. He was starting to think that his own death has finally come. "_Vick. Peterson. Simon. Jackson. Simba. Nala. Kiara. Kovu._" he started thinking to himself as he stared into Jensen's eyes, unable to move. "Vitani." he whispered as he fell to the darkness.

_**--- Kenya, Africa, 'The Pridelands', Pride Rock---**_

**June 18th, 1944, 1805 hours (06:05 p.m)**

A white, blinding light seared Shelton's dark eyes that illuminated his vision from the darkness for a moment before the light disappeared. After the light was gone, he found himself in the den with his men as they were before; Jackson at the rock table, Peterson throwing his knife idiotically, and Simon being quiet as usual. He felt a stinging pain run through his brain as he slowly regained his memory of what he was doing. "What happened?" he asked to himself out loud. "You were thinking about our next orders until you said "Vitani"." Jackson answered, still looking over the map. Charles was struggling to remember him saying the lioness's name, but all he got was nothing. He felt like he was starting to suffer from amnesia only he was remembering his horrific past and not his simple life. Everyone was quiet until Peterson's knife made a loud PING when it struck the ground. "Damn it." Peterson said to himself as he started to walk to his knife, ready to throw again. "I said her name?" the dazed Sergeant asked. Jackson took his attention from the map to look at Charles with the grin of a clown on his face. "Looks like you're finally starting to come out of the closet, sir." he commented before giving a little laugh. Charles didn't reply straight away, he just gave a shrug as a sign of annoyance. After all this time, the guys never let him off with reminders of Vitani even with all the PT and scolding Charles gives them. Charles thought up a nice comeback against this attack and gave a small nod. "At least I don't cry "Dotty. Dotty." in MY sleep, Corporal." Simon and Peterson chuckled as Jackson's cheeks illuminated a reddish color. Charles got him right where he wanted him. Jackson just shook his head and pointed his finger at Shelton, eliminating the smug grin from his face and replacing it with a stern and serious look. "Keep Dotty out of this." Jackson warned. For once, he wasn't joking around. Peterson felt compelled to sheath his knife and stand in between the two men, thinking that a fight would start if it got any farther. Nobody wanted to see Charles beat Jackson to a pulp again even when Jackson deserves it. "Keep Vitani out of this then, Corporal!" responded Charles. Jackson was starting to make an advance before Peterson rested his arms on their chests and tried to push the two away from each other. "Alright, we don't need anyone going to Rafiki now do we? Now you both calm down." the young soldier intervened. Both Jackson and Charles tried their best to calm down for a period of time. "Alright! Jackson, your on 0500 recon tomorrow morning in the Eastern Plains. Peterson, 0700 at the Pridelands/Outlands border. Be extra careful. Simon, 0900 in the southwest region for three miles." Charles ordered. He waited for a minute as his men tried to collect the data that was ordered to them before he continued on. "Any traces of any German activity are reported to me immediately, no excuses! Pick your teams. Dismissed!" The men urgently left the den, still looking back at their commanding officer before they all disappeared in the sun.

As Charles was finishing the final overlay of the map, he noticed something shining in his bag that was shown through the golden sun's rays of light. He set down his ruler and walked over to the black bag and pulled out the shining object with awe and shock. The object was the Japanese Katana that was stabbed into Private Jensen that day on Guadalcanal! Charles slowly pulled the sword itself out of its sheath and swung it cautiously, feeling the weight shift from hilt to the metal blade's tip. Charles brought it upright and looked at the hilt's décor for the longest time. His memories of that day ran through his head very clearly but with skipping images almost like a dream long since past. "Charles?" a voice called behind him. Charles hurriedly placed the sword back into the leather sheath and tucked it away inside his bag. When he turned around to see who the voice belonged to, Kovu was standing near the stone table with a sense of confusion and curiosity on his face. "What was that?" the young prince asked. Charles quickly turned around and finished zipping up the bag with the sword inside. "It's nothing, just a few mapping rulers." he lied. Both Kovu and Charles knew this was by far a lie, for the rulers were on the rock table that Kovu was standing next to. Charles walked over to the table and started clearing it of the map and materials that lay on the rough surface of the rock. Kovu noticed the struggle that the young human had while quickly putting the paper and rulers away which perplexed him. "Is something wrong?" he asked. Charles ignored the prince and just continued to clean up the table with as much speed as he could muster. Truth was, Charles was always very nervous around royalty or people of higher rank and stature above him. Charles wanted to get out of there quickly as his bones shook and his heart started to beat faster and faster. "What do you need, your Highness?" he asked while he focused on his task. He was expecting Kovu to say something about Vitani or throw out an insult for being a human being, but what came out wasn't even on the young man's mind at all. "I want to join your war party." said the prince with a calm voice. Charles stopped as soon as he picked up the black pen and turned his attention to Kovu and eyed him for awhile. "And why would you want to do that?" the young Sergeant asked coldly. Kovu didn't move at all but Charles knew for a fact that the prince was indeed thinking about this matter. Possibly an answer he wanted to give that would be convincing enough. Kovu lightly pushed a small pebble aside with his paw and looked down at the rocky floor. "I feel that I should protect the pride that I will rule one day." he answered with bit of mumbling in between. Charles thought that, by how Kovu sounded and looked right now, he just wanted to join to be a hero, which was what most young men do in war, only to be killed as soon as they touch the battlefield. Shelton took the pen in his hand and gently set it in a small pouch in his vest and zipped it up. "I know what you want, Kovu, and you won't find it in a warzone. Believe me on that." Kovu's ears drooped after hearing the accusation and shifted his paws a bit for a moment. Charles continued on as he finished up the cleaning, "This is not a simple pride war, your Highness. This is a real human war. I've seen soldiers fall to the ground dead before any of us even heard the shot. Is that what you want to be called a hero for? For being shot at random from a hidden enemy?" Kovu took a deep breath and relaxed his muscles a little as Charles gave his lecture. Everyone was starting to think that Charles tried to sound like Vickers with his lectures and orders even though it was rare for Vick to give lectures on heroism and the realities of war. Kovu lately had started to take interest in fighting the German Army and most likely wished to be a hero for everyone. This didn't fool Charles at all though. "I don't want the royal family getting pissed at me because their prince got shot in the ass from a Kraut sniper." Charles finished. Kovu didn't say anything, allowing Charles to finish the cleaning and setting the mapping equipment aside. People have always thought of a battlefield of war as the prime of fame and glory, but this wasn't the case for Shelton, for he knew what war is really like: a place of death and destruction that mankind will never set aside. Kovu finally broke his silence and tried to back up his decisions, "I won't be a problem, I swear." Charles wiped away the sweat from his forehead as the African sun started to shine throughout the cave in its rotation. "If I allow you to join my platoon and fight alongside me in combat, you are to follow my orders exactly. There will be NO exceptions for you because of your title in the pride. I will not call you "Highness" or "Prince". I will refer to you by your rank or name. Is that clear?" With his request granted, Kovu gave a smile and gave Charles a nod. Charles didn't smile nor did he nod, he just gave a little salute and picked up the bag of maps and rulers, eagerly waiting for Kovu to leave before he would end up sweating his eyes out. Kovu turned away and started walking to the exit of the cave. Before he left, Kovu turned around and gave a devious grin. "You know, you should start talking to Vitani more. She needs someone to talk to." The prince gave a quiet chuckle before Charles could even respond and walked out of Shelton's sight. The Sergeant became a little irritated and picked up his own bag and started walking outside. "_Maybe_. _Guess it can't hurt._" Charles thought to himself The war for the Pridelands has just begun and he already has heavy baggage in the ranks.

**Hey! Spartansoldier2 reporting! I have decided to make my chapters a bit longer to make it more 'interesting'. Hope you enjoy this chapter and hope to have you wanting more. Over and out!**

**-Spartansoldier2**


	5. Technical Difficulties Preview

**This is a chapter preview to show you that I am still working on this story after all of this time. This will be finished within the week!**

**Chapter IV**

**Technical Difficulties**

"_**I'm fed up to the ears with old men dreaming up wars for young men to die in." -George McGovern **_

**-_United States Department of Defense Headquarters "The Pentagon", Arlington County, Virginia, United States of America_-**

**June 18th, 1944, 1903 hours (07:03 P.M.)**

It was a typical late afternoon work environment for Major General Lewis: a desk covered with piles of paper work covering vast amounts of topics dedicated to the defense of America and her allies, a daily 'briefing' from the local newspaper, and discovering the lack of coffee in the Officer's Lounge just down the hall from his office. His section of the massive building was one of the few that did not have the luxury of windows, so it's offices were conceived as dull and gray when compared to the spacious offices for the more 'public' sub-departments of the government. Lewis had always felt that the underground sub-departments were always somewhat depressing and damp in it's atmosphere to the point where he requested exactly eight times for recommendation of transfer to Washington D.C but with no success. He was reading over top secret documents of the aftermath of Operation Overlord earlier that month, ready to write up a file of his own to report to his superiors later that day, when he looked to the left of the files to see a new file marked: "OPERATION SAVANNAH-TOP SECRET-JUNE 18th, 1944". "_Finally, a new report._" the Major General thought to himself as he reached over to it and opened up the folder swiftly, starting to read it over. When he overlooked over half of the report, he stared wide-eyed back and forth over the last sentence of the first paragraph: **"Command of**** Operation Savannah**** has been shifted over to Captain Terence Wright effective immediately with confirmation from British Secret Air Service (S.A.S) Major General Philips." ** "Who the hell is this Terence Wright?" Lewis exclaimed aloud in confused anger. Almost miraculously, knocking sounds emitted from his office door. "Come in!" Lewis yelled in frustration. He settled down when a man in his mid thirties walked into the Major General's office and snapped to attention, removing his officer cap. "Captain Morris Royce of the USS Dauntless, sir!" said the Captain. Lewis lightly shook at the word 'captain' and motioned to one of two chairs in front of his desk. "Sit." he ordered. The officer walked over to the chair to the left and said, "Thank you, sir." before sitting down. Lewis closed the "OPERATION: SAVANNAH" and "OPERATION: OVERLORD" files and slid them to the right side of his desk and eyed the Captain curiously but still with caution. "Can I help you, Captain?" he asked the man. Captain Royce was shifting his eyes and looking around the room with curiosity at the pictures and books around the walls and shelves before looking back at the Major General. "Oh yes! We received a transmission last week while on recon around East Africa's waters that sounded distressed and distorted, but it came out as a request for support." Lewis was about to light a cigarette that he pulled out his pack on the table when he suddenly stopped and coughed lightly, sending the cigarette flying into the right wall, leaving a darkish-brown spot on the gray paint. He collected himself and took a sip of his cup of coffee that he was lucky enough to have before proceeding to stare at Royce. "Did you record it? Did you bring it with you?" The Captain reached into one of his trouser pockets and pulled out two small tapes. "Yes, sir." he said. Lewis reached over to the "OPERATION: SAVANNAH" file and quickly stood up, walked around his desk, and started walking towards the door. "Follow me."

**-_Kenya, Africa, 'The Pridelands', Pride Rock_-**

**June 18th, 1944, 1908 hours (07:08 P.M.)**

The sound of grass rustling about on the earth like a predator ready to attack an unsuspecting victim filled the clean air around Pride Rock as the subtle African wind picked up slightly, but noticeably, as Sergeant Shelton made his way towards his squad's den just behind the large rock structure. He was still pondering on his visions of his experiences on Guadalcanal, especially his vision in the 'battle cave' that lasted for so long to him. "_What does it all mean? Am I going crazy?_" he thought to himself. Charles had heard of men returning from war, including his own missing father, suffering the visions that he himself is experiencing and some going insane because of the horrors of death and destruction shown. "_I should have joined the Air Force._" He saw himself in his head flying over the French countryside in his own P-47D Thunderbolt dogfighting the best Aces of the German Luftwaffe, dodging and diving with machine guns blazing as the bonds of man and machine were destroyed in great explosions of fire and metal. He was glad personally to be fighting the Germans now instead of the Imperial Japanese Navy. "_Those Japanese are tough-as-nails and TOO good at killing our guys. I could barely even SEE where they were, let alone shoot them._" Charles thought the German Wehrmacht was at least highly organized to the point where one could actually predict what they were going to do, which gave him relief. To him, thinking like the enemy was a very important aspect in the efforts to stay alive and ready in a war; the difference between life and death. But this time, even HE couldn't figure out where the Germans were and what they were doing, only that they were there and they were planning their moves against him and his men. He knew that he had to get ready for the coming storm that will rain bullets and will create the thunder of mortar shells, and this storm was to come in the form of a swastika.

**Like I said, this is simply just a reminder that, even after all of this time, I am continuing to work on this story. I have been busy finishing high school and now I'm attending as an international student at the Lomonosov Moscow State University in Moscow, Russia! I love this school! This chapter WILL be finished within the week and I WILL finish this story for you all! There is still much to do! I am very sorry for having people wait and I will repay you with the best of my abilities!**

**-Spartansoldier2**


End file.
